Listen to the Rain
by Sea Rhapsody
Summary: Sometimes there are lessons to be learned, and sometimes it takes a metaphysical whack over the head to learn them. Or, what happens when a spirit gets bored.


Disclaimer:  I do not own any of the legends, movies, or whatever that this might remind you of.

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><p>"Listen…" Arthur whirled around, his hand resting heavily on the sword at his waist. Then he stepped back. A woman, radiant all in white, sat delicately on a nearby tombstone. His first instinct was to drag her off the stone; his blood boiled at the blatant disrespect this wench was showing his dead knights. Or maybe he would run and forget he ever saw her. "Listen."<p>

His next instinct was to bow at her feet.

He settled for cautiously approaching the young woman—no, not woman, she was only a girl—and slowly extended a hand to her. When all else failed, he could always fall back on chivalry. "Will you come down from there, My Lady?"

She giggled lightly, like silver bells, and placed a slender, pale hand in his. He shuddered at the cold touch of her fingers on his palm; there was no warmth to her at all. He went to speak again, but she laid the fingers of her other hand against his lips, like ice. The hairs stood up at the back of his neck; something was wrong with this…

With her.

Then she gracefully alighted, her wide, pale eyes focused entirely upon him. They were curiously… blank, despite the pretty curving of her lips. He was momentarily astounded by her diminutive figure; she'd seemed so much taller on the headstone. This time, when she spoke he heard the childlike lilt in her voice.

"You must _listen_ to the rain, if you wish it to guide you."

He dropped her hand as if it had burnt him, backpedaling. "What?"

Unperturbed, the girl closed the distance between them again, tilting her face up towards him. Almost as if she hadn't noticed his earlier move. "That's what you're doing out here," She spread her arms wide, and twirled, giggling. Then she stilled, and looked expectantly up at him, her eyes still eerily absent. "Isn't it?"

"But—"

A fat raindrop hit his cheek, and he flinched. "See. Now listen…"

He listened for a moment.

"What am I supposed to hear?"

"Hush." She reached for his hand, and he shivered at the contact. He stiffened when she snuggled into his side, fighting the urge to push her away. She was like the parody of a small child; delicate, sweet, but so very cold. She looked up at him, in a pale mockery of adoration. "The rain sings!"

His breath caught in his throat. The rain didn't seem to touch her. She still shone with a sort of quiet luminescence, undaunted by the wetness of the air. Feeling as if he were intruding on something holy, or perhaps unholy, and either way something-to-be-careful-with, he knelt down in front of her, looking her straight in the eye. "What does in sing about, My Lady? The rain?"

Her overall expression didn't change, her smile just as serene as it had ever been, but a small, sly light entered her eyes. Unholy. Then, oh so very quietly, she whispered to him. "It sings of joy, and sorrow, in equal measure. It sings of cold, so cold it will freeze His heart. It sings of flashing metal and burning earth. It sings of what will be lost, but also what will be gained… it sings of freedom."

Her eyes had widened almost impossibly, and when she took a step towards him, Arthur scrambled to his feet. "Freedom, My Lady? That is… good?"

She giggled again, the sound so empty, like her eyes. "Good? Yes, I suppose it is!" For a moment it seemed as if she would say nothing more. "Yes. Good. Your knights dream of freedom, do they not? So then it is good that they get it, no matter what form it comes it."

"What form—"

"Of course!" The unnatural child looked up at him through her pale eyelashes, her eyes glowing strangely, like moonlight on mist. "There are many ways to gain freedom. They are not all so kind. But kinder than the alternative. Yes, most defiantly kinder than that."

Arthur drew himself up to his full height, and spoke with every ounce of regality he might or might not have possessed in even the smallest corners of his God-loving soul. Perhaps he intended to intimidate the child, perhaps not. "Of what do you speak?

"I am free, am I not?"

Then she was gone, and Arthur stood alone in the rain.

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><p>AN: Hello, all! This is a bit of an experiment... if anyone will deign to review the story, might I ask that they include some tidbit of constructive criticism, if possible?


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